


Spare the Rod

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [23]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caning, First Time Topping, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Someone messes up and Master has to dole out a punishment. Of course, it's never quite as straightforward as that.None of my other ideas are gelling at the moment. I've made one change to the suggestion Imperial_Dragon gave me, because I have 'caning' as a kink_bingo square.





	Spare the Rod

Dinner parties were almost as boring as cocktail parties, if you got stuck serving, yet they were still preferable by far to the sort of gatherings where Ven would be exhibited to his Master's friends in much the same way as he was exhibited for his Master's videos.

The conversation had turned to SIPAS, which Master derided as an interfering board of overly nosy busybodies who held office merely to have something else they could add to their impressive sounding list of sinecures. 

"They do good work, though," one guest murmured peaceably over the rim of his wine-cup. "There was that case in, oh, Tarentum a few years ago – you must have heard of it? Half the slaves turned out to be on a short-term sentence for something-or-other, and most of the rest were _nexi_. I understand that SIPAS were able to get the sentences commuted and the man responsible has been banned from owning or purchasing slaves ever again. Even _vernae_."

"Well, this is the twenty-eighth century, you know, not the eighth. Of course someone found treating their slaves like that should be stopped from owning them. And if he finds it an inconvenience to do everything himself, he should have thought of that earlier."

"Still, SIPAS shouldn't poke their noses in where there's no cause to," Master said. "To come into the house of a respectable citizen and poke around – you wouldn't wish to go and see the slave quarters of a house, surely, unless you are thinking of purchasing the house in question?"

"No, but I am not a SIPAS inspector, and you must admit that they do a good job. They're hardly going to descend on _you_ unannounced and remove your slaves because of the conditions."

"I should damn well hope not!"

"Pax, gentlemen," interjected another. "I take it that you have had your warning about the next six-month inspection, then?" He held his wine-cup out in a silent command as he spoke, and Ven stepped forward noiselessly to refill it.

"They'll find nothing to report here -"

There was a crash as someone dropped a platter. The slaves and guests froze momentarily before the master continued as if he had not been interrupted. "- everything is up to date, and the facilities are better than..."

Ven, the nearest to the wreckage, put his jug of wine down and moved quickly but quietly around to where another of the slaves was kneeling beside the table, hastily gathering pieces together, looking white and shaken. He dropped to his knees beside him, swiftly moving to gather the larger pieces of crockery together.

His words were spoken urgently but in an undertone, so as not to disturb the guests any further than they had already been. "Go to the cleaning cupboard – you know where that is, right? I need an empty bucket, a damp cloth and a dustpan and brush. Quick, now."

The other slave - Moss! - gave him a slightly panicked look, but responded to the gentle shove Ven gave him, leaving Ven as the only one kneeling there, gathering the pieces together so that they would be cleared up quicker when he had somewhere to put them.

"Well, whether you like SIPAS inspections or not, they have never advocated for abolition as... oh what do they call themselves? Equālitās, thank you. They surely haven't thought the thing through properly. What do they think is going to happen if their ridiculous plan comes to pass? Are they going to stop hosting dinners, or start mending the roads themselves?"

The items brought, Ven and his fellow slave quickly cleared the mess up as the conversation continued over their heads, the guests naturally ignoring them completely as they worked. Ven swept up the smaller pieces before wiping the mosaic tiles down with the cloth, which he draped over the edge of the bucket.

"Go and dispose of that," Ven told him in an undertone. "Take as long as you need before you come back in – and if you bring any more food in, try not to drop it."

"Well, I think you should join the board of SIPAS, you know. High-profile organisation like that, that's actually doing some good - Equālitās are a bunch of pie-in-the-sky idiots who simply wouldn't be able to make anything run if they got what they're after. SIPAS are honest-to-gods ensuring that people don't treat slaves worse than they treat their dogs, and that can't be bad Even if you don't agree with the inspections - what are people supposed to do otherwise, phone a number and tell on someone?"

Ven was pleased to note that the colour had come back into Moss' face and that he had mostly stopped shaking once he realised there was to be no immediate punishment forthcoming. In plenty of other households such an interruption would have led to an immediate whipping, Ven knew. He waited until Moss had taken himself and the bucket back out before he resumed his place by the wall, reclaiming the jug of wine as he did so.

The rest of the meal, which included _secundae mēnsae_ , went well, with no more incidents.

The _triclinium_ was set to rights again, though a sense of unease hung over the slaves, who worked in near-silence. Although he had been serving, Ven had been summoned back to the master's room, leaving everyone else to clear away the remains of the meal. It was only a few short minutes later that he reappeared, still clothed, and made for Willow who was supervising the tidying up. 

All activity was brought to an abrupt halt as Willow clapped his hands for attention. "Everyone into the atrium – line up! Smartly now, the master wants a word."

They filed into the atrium, silent but puzzled, even as Ven vanished in the direction of the training room, reappearing a few moments later. He set a couple of items down on the master's couch and joined the line of waiting slaves.

They didn't have to wait for long. Master came out from his room, his steps unhurried, and sat down on the couch. “First things first. Is there anyone here who wasn't serving at dinner, and is anyone missing who was?”

Willow looked along the line of slaves. It had not been a grand occasion, merely a few friends, but some of the kitchen staff had come to help clear away the remains of dessert.

"Chrestus wasn't, Master," he said. "Nor was Felix."

"Very well. You two may leave – carry on with what you were doing."

"Yes, master."

There was a pause as the two named slaves returned to the kitchen. Master regarded the remaining slaves in silence, adding to the trepidation they were all feeling.

"Who dropped that platter, earlier?" he asked.

There was an almost audible gulp from one end of the line. "Me... I mean... I... I did, Master. I'm very sorry."

"Moss, isn't it? Why?"

Moss gaped at the question. No master had ever asked anything like that of a slave before, when it came to punishing an accident, in his experience.

"I must presume there was some reason for it, something that caused you to drop it. Unless you merely felt like giving yourself more work to do, and drawing my attention?" The master's tone was dry.

"No, Master! I... I've hurt my wrist, and it was too heavy and an awkward angle..."

"You hurt your wrist. You told Willow, of course?"

"No, Master." The confession was made in a quiet, miserable voice, and Ven glanced down the line of kneeling slaves. Refusing to pass the blame onto someone else even when given the opportunity – that was uncommon.

"Willow?"

"It was my fault, Master."

"How so? You didn't know."

"I failed to ensure that everyone was fit to fulfil their duties this evening, Master. I _should_ have known about it."

"Yes, you should. You will not allow a repeat of this, is that understood?"

"Yes, Master."

"Moss."

"Yes, Master?"

"You will receive six strokes of the cane. Willow?"

"Yes, Master?"

"You will receive nine strokes. Ven?"

Ven startled; he hadn't expected to be drawn back into this. "Yes, Master?"

"You should learn to administer a caning. Come here."

Ven got up and crossed to the couch where his master was sitting, with a suddenly renewed sense of trepidation. 

"Strip – lay your tunic here." Master indicated the seat beside him and Ven hastily unfastened the rope round his waist and pulled his tunic off, laying them down as told. "Bend over the arm of the couch – can you see yourself in the mirror there?"

"Y... yes, Master." He could also see the reflected faces of the watching slaves, or some of them. 

"You will take note of what I am doing," Master said, taking hold of the cane and standing. "This is a good medium-weight one, it bends well and there is no damage to it."

He pressed the cane to the small of Ven's back and then to the back of his knees. "You do not want to strike here, nor here," he said. "Anywhere in between is acceptable, but it is painful to sit if the back of the thighs are caned hard. You will receive six. This is not a punishment for you, but a training, although it will be the same intensity as a punishment. The first stroke will land here." He pressed the cane to the fullest part of Ven's buttocks, the pressure equally across both.

The stripe landed precisely where Master had said it would. He didn't remove the cane immediately, but paused for a beat. "The stroke of a cane is a two-fold blow, once when it lands and again when it is removed from contact."

"O...one, Master. May I have another?"

"As you have not done this before, I recommend that you give a practise tap or two to be sure of your aim. And remember that you do not need to swing with your full force, it is the tool itself that does the majority of the work."

The cane was tapped lightly against Ven's bum, twice, just below the first stroke, and then it was drawn back and landed, raising a line of fire precisely where indicated.

"Two, M- Master! May I h- have another?"

Master continued his demonstration, giving a tap before every stroke, and landing every stroke exactly where it was indicated. The last one was given right at the crease where buttocks and thighs met.

"Willow."

Willow came forward, looking a little pale. He had not made a mistake like that in a long time.

"Why are you being punished?"

"I made a mistake, Master. I failed to ensure that everyone was capable of doing the duty I had set them to do, and you were... embarrassed in front of your guests."

"Who is punishing you for it?"

"You are, Master, even if you're not wielding the cane yourself."

"Strip, and get into position."

Ven looked a little sick as his master pressed the cane into his hand. There was a vast difference between receiving a punishment and inflicting one, and he had never been in the position of inflicting one before. And his arse hurt – he knew he'd been marked, because it was practically impossible not to mark when caning someone. Anyway, his master had meant to mark him, it would be strange if he _wasn't_ welted.

He did not want to be the one doing this, not to his friend, but there was no getting out of it. It was what Master wanted, it would be what Master got.

If he could do it without crossing the lines, too. The first stroke fell more or less where he'd tapped.

"A little firmer with it – don't pussyfoot around. This is a punishment, after all. Disregard that one, Willow."

That would put the count up to ten, Ven thought, though he hadn't left a mark.

The next stroke did, though. There was a murmur of approval from his master, watching him.

"One, Ven.... may I have another?"

There was something powerful, maybe even a little addictive, about having someone bent over to receive stripes from the cane you wielded, Ven thought, stepping back after delivering the ninth stroke. He had not been able to keep them as close together as Master had, and so he had strayed down Willow's thighs, too. Probably the last three or four stripes would be visible even when he had his tunic on.

"Face the wall, there. Hands behind your head," Master said, indicating a blank stretch of wall nearby, which would give everyone a good view of Willow's stripes until this was done. It was only then that Ven realised his master had his phone out and was obviously filming it all. He was glad he hadn't known that before.

"Moss."

"Yes, Master."

"What are you being punished for?"

"I didn't tell anyone that I'd hurt my wrist, Master, and I couldn't do my duties properly because of it." Moss was looking pale but composed, and removed his tunic before being ordered to, setting it aside with Willow's and Ven's. He bent over the arm of the couch, lacing his fingers together behind his head, where both Ven and Willow had clasped their hands on the seat of the couch.

"Six, Ven, as before."

"Yes, Master."

It was easier, now that he knew what he was doing. Even when Moss kicked feebly, once, he didn't break position, and Ven was able to land all six strokes on his bum, where they would be hidden once he was dressed.

"Stand up, Moss, and join Willow by the wall there.”"

Master turned to the watching slaves. "In future, you will inform Willow, or Ven, if you cannot fulfil your duties for any reason whatsoever," he said. "You may return to your duties."

There was a subdued chorus of, "Yes, Master," and they dispersed, the lesson learned.

Master checked his watch. "You two will stand on display thus in the slaves' corridor for the next half-an-hour. Ven, you will return the cane to the training room and then join them, and come back to my room afterwards. Dismissed."

It was Willow who scooped up their tunics before leaving the atrium, walking stiffly.

For something not a punishment, it was amazing how much like a punishment it felt, Ven thought, staring at a crack in the plaster ten minutes later. He could only hope that his master wouldn't delegate any more punishments to him. It just felt too strange, seeing the marks on his friend's arses, knowing he was the one who'd put them there.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: SIPAS – _Societās Imperātōrium Prohibēre Atrōcitae Servīs_ which translates back to English as the Imperial Society (or Alliance) to Prevent/Prohibit/Hinder Cruelty/Brutality to Slaves. (Latin has a far smaller vocabulary than English, therefore words that are synonyms in English are often translated to the same word in Latin.) I may not have declined the nouns correctly, but that's my stab at it, anyway.  
>  _nexi_ – from nexus, a person enslaved for debt. Originally debt-slavery was abolished in 326BC, but it has been re-established from about 400 years ago, to help off-set the loss of prisoners-of-war being sold into slavery. Anyone sold as a debt-slave forfeits any claim to citizenship until they can buy, or are awarded, their freedom in the same way as a verna. There is no difference between a verna and a nexus in terms of the treatment they may expect from an owner.  
>  _secundae mēnsae_ – literally 'second table' – was the third course of a Roman dinner (after _gustatio_ and _primae mensae_ ), including dessert. So-called from the practise of physically removing the dining table and swapping it for another, already-laid, table.  
>  _triclinium_ \- the dining room, named for the three couches arranged around a central table. Upper-class and rich Romans ate their main meal reclining on one arm, taking food from platters on the table in front of them.


End file.
